


some superhero, some fairy tale bliss

by stepstostars



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: M/M, Magical Realism, New Year's Resolutions, Origin Story, faker always wins, nothing happens.txt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 11:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12232368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepstostars/pseuds/stepstostars
Summary: “Did you know they call you the Right Hand of God?”Seongwoong laughs, and Sanghyeok can feel the vibration all the way down to his toes. “Well,” he says wryly, letting his head rest on top of Sanghyeok’s. “They’re not entirely wrong.”





	some superhero, some fairy tale bliss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chronoshift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronoshift/gifts).



> for e, because only you would support faker/bengi in 2017
> 
> in your dear author, you asked for anything with any characters, so I give you 6.4k of semi-coming of age of faker, from silent awkward teenager to slightly less awkward and happy young adult

The first time Sanghyeok meets Seongwoong, it’s in a cramped room filled with too many computers and people. He’d only come because the coach for SKT had practically begged for him to participate in the tryouts, and out of curiosity and guilt he’d accepted the offer. But now that he’s actually here, surrounded by too many bodies and excessive amounts of noise, he’s regretting that decision.

“GoJeonPa,” he hears from the side, and he instinctively turns, finding himself facing a boy who looks just a couple of years older than him. “Hello!”

“Um.” He bows stiffly, still uncomfortable with being called by his tagname. “Hello.”

“I’m Bae Seongwoong,” the boy introduces, looking at him with a gaze that seems to almost see _through_ him, and he wonders if this is what it feels to be surveyed by a professional’s eye. “It’s good to meet you, I thought this was going to be another disappointment.”

“Oh, that’s—good?” he says, confused but still trying to remain polite.

Seongwoong laughs, patting him on the shoulder. “Good luck with tryouts, Lee Sanghyeok.”

He waves a startled goodbye before he realizes he hadn’t actually told Seongwoong his name. But by that time, Seongwoong’s made it to the other side of the room, too far for any of Sanghyeok’s questions. He’s left hoping not every pro-gamer ends up that weird. Or cryptic.

 

Much to his surprise, Seongwoong turns out to be one of the other recruits. He’d looked at Sangheyok with such a piercing stare that he’d instantly thought of him as one of the already accepted players. His tagname’s one that Sanghyeok is sure he’s never seen in the high elo ladder before, but everyone else seems to accept it easily enough. He even winks at Sanghyeok as he's introduced, as if they’re sharing an in-joke that no one else understands. Except Sanghyeok himself doesn’t understand it, either.

In the end, it turns out Seongwoong’s mechanics aren't bad, and Sanghyeok forgets about his weirdness soon enough, dismissing it as a lapse of memory or a fluke of luck that he’s never played with Seongwoong before. There are enough high elo players in the Korean ladder that it’s possible he might’ve only played with him once or twice and forgot.

Or maybe he’s new to the game, Sanghyeok thinks, watching as Seongwoong gets caught invading the enemy’s jungle again. He made mistakes that reeked of inexperience, as if he was still learning to properly read the map. And yet those moments were juxtaposed with instances of impeccable micro, as Seongwoong perfectly juggled tower aggro during a dive or easily 1v2’ing after saving his laner from a gank.

Even with his relatively poor level of play, Seongwoong sticks in Sanghyeok’s head—maybe because of his weird method of introduction, or the strangeness of his style. So throughout the three days of tryouts, Sanghyeok finds himself following Seongwoong’s progress, absently checking on his games even when they’re not playing together.

While Seongwoong still lagged behind many of the more established junglers, he showed improvement after every game—a monstrous rate of growth that seems to puzzle even the coaches, judging by the furrowed brow on kkOma’s face every time he watches Seongwoong play. By the last round, Sanghyeok’s almost disappointed to see Seongwoong’s name missing.

 

Turns out, he had nothing to be worried about, because on move-in day he meets the rest of his soon-to-be teammates, and along with Eonyeong, Gwangjin, and Jeonghyun, all excellent players in their own right from what he had seen during tryouts, Seongwoong’s already sitting at one of the computers idly browsing Inven. The coaches mediate a set of perfunctory introductions before ushering him into the bedroom, where he takes the last empty bunk. Coincidentally enough, it’s the bunk right above Seongwoong’s, who helps him squeeze his luggage case underneath the bottom bed.

Seongwoong turns to him with a bright smile. “GoJeonPa,” he says happily. “We meet again.”

Something about packing his luggage away seems to cement the reality of what he’s just done, signing his life away to take a bet on an uncertain career and future. But it’s too late to regret his choices, and at least the people around him seem friendly enough—and hopefully they’ll get along. “Bengi,” he says with his own tentative smile, politely dipping his head. “I’m in your care.”

 

They storm through spring and crash through summer, until they’re on the stage raising a trophy at Worlds and he’s never felt something as electric as this—to finally touch a physical manifestation of his goals, to know that all his effort had been _worth_ something. He turns to smile Seongwoong, whose eyes glow as his hand tightens around Sanghyeok’s to lift up into the air for another cheer.

“T1!” they shout, laughing as the crowd roars back in response. Winning OGN had been exhilarating, but this—winning Worlds is in its own realm, transcendent in its own right.

-

Their second year doesn’t turn out nearly as well.

They sit together to watch World finals, silent as Samsung White does what they do best, smashing Star Horn Royal into the ground. Sanghyeok feels a phantom pain as they sit through the closing ceremony, forced to look on as another team—as the team that repeatedly blocked them throughout the year—raises the trophy up into the air.

"Well," Seongwoong says quietly. "That won't do."

- 

Changes happen.

Sister teams are abolished, Jeonghyun retires, Eonyeong and Gwangjin leave for the green lawns of LA, all of the Samsung players leave for the cash-green pastures of China—it’s an eventful pre-season. He’d found it a slow process to bond with his teammates on K—never mind trying to befriend their sister team’s members, and so the first couple of days and scrimmages are incredibly awkward. Well, for him, at least.

Unlike him, Seongwoong has everyone charmed by the end of the first hour, already joking around with Jaewan and Junsik like they’ve been friends for years. Even Jihoon, S’s own reclusive mid, quickly warms to him with an ease that makes Sanghyeok jealous—but the worst is Gyeonghwan.

Seongwoong eyes Gyeonghwan with the same measuring gaze he’d given Sanghyeok when they first met, the one that pierced straight into his soul—and he can’t help the irritation that builds within him. Gyeonghwan’s good at League, has a capacity to carry that rivals even Sanghyeok, and Seongwoong can look at anyone however he likes—but none of those reasons are enough to stop Sanghyeok from narrowing his eyes at Gyeonghwan whenever he sees him.

He feels Seongwoong lightly nudge him with a shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he says, amused when he glances back at Sanghyeok. “He might have potential, but yours is still the best.”

Sanghyeok frowns, weakly protesting, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He crosses his arms against his chest, trying not to show his frustration and failing judging by Seongwoong’s indulgent smile. “I won’t leave you,” Seongwoong says, a soothing balm to Sanghyeok’s nerves. “And we should get along with our new team.”

He looks over to where Gyeonghwan is rubbing at his face with a hand while his gray screen ticks down—and he doesn’t look very intimidating now, frustrated and tilted and extremely human. “Fine,” he says, warming slightly when Seongwoong pats him on the shoulder.

He glances back to see Gyeonghwan sighing as he makes the long walk back to lane, and Sanghyeok can’t help feeling a little smug. After all, no matter how skilled Gyeonghwan is, Sanghyeok’s the one with a World Championship under his belt.

 

As the days go on and they practice more together, physically forced to share space and talk to one another, things fall into place. Sanghyeok find his teammates’ intentions are clearer now, easy to read off their faces and body language in a way it had never been before. It doesn’t feel like Gyeonghwan or Junsik or Jaewan are any more sensitive or talkative than Eonyeong or Gwangjin or Jeonghyun—but all the same, Sanghyeok doesn’t struggle in conversation with them, feels close to them in a way he never imagined.

“That’s what experience does for you,” Seongwoong tells him with a laugh when he asks. “Congratulations, you’re growing up.”

And maybe that’s why, because before he joined SKT, he hadn’t spent much time with other people, always holed in his room after school or taking the corner computer in the PC Bang to avoid everyone around him. In the end, talking and interacting with his teammates has never been easier—he always manages to figure out just how far to push or exactly what to say, like there’s a rapidly forming flow-chart guiding all of his actions, telling him how people will react.

The only one who remains just as mysterious as ever is Seongwoong—who had always been the one to make efforts to understand Sanghyeok in the first place. It makes sense, he thinks, for the one person he’s known the longest to remain the same. Seongwoong’s the one who saw this growth in him, after all, and it’s only right that he’s the one his newfound power doesn’t affect.

- 

During the pre-season, SKT picks up Jaehyeon, a fresh new jungler recruited straight from solo queue. Sanghyeok’s not keen on the idea of sharing time on stage with Jihoon, but Jihoon had been a starter with S so it only made sense that they both saw play time. However, Jaehyeon’s a new addition with the direct purpose of possibly replacing Seongwoong—and Sanghyeok’s a little mortified to realize how much that irks him.

“I had a slump before and I can have a slump in the future,” Seongwoong explains patiently. “I don’t want to bring you down again.”

“You wouldn’t,” he protests, and he knows it comes off as selfish but, “I don’t trust anyone else in the jungle.”

Seongwoong’s eyes soften. “It’ll give you more depth to play with others.”

“I play solo queue every day,” he says. “Just because they’re different doesn’t mean they’re any better.”

Seongwoong sighs, stretching out his arms. “Let an old man like me get some rest,” he complains amiably, and it’s a joke and a warning all at once. Sanghyeok can only look on moodily as Seongwoong leaves to greet Jaehyeon and welcome him to the team house.

 

Jaehyeon doesn’t just replace Seongwoong as a starter, he starts flirting obnoxiously obviously with him in front of the whole team. And, even worse, Seongwoong not only lets him, but he also _reciprocates_.

Sanghyeok’s been staring at the way Jaehyeon holds Seongwoong’s hand for the past ten minutes, unable to concentrate enough to play League, not even enough to focus on the dumb platformer he’d recently downloaded on his phone. He watches Jaehyeon lean closer to drape himself on Seongwoong’s back, head tucked against his shoulder.

“Jaehyeonie,” Seongwoong says, tugging at his hand. “I think coach wants to talk to you.”

Jaehyeon pouts, shoulders slumping as he seems to put even _more_ weight on Seongwoong’s shoulders. “But I’m so comfortable here.”

Seongwoong turns his head to whisper something Sanghyeok can’t hear into Jaehyeon’s ear, changing something casual and romantic into something unbearably intimate with just one move. After several more moments of hushed murmurs, Jaehyeon eventually stands up, whistling as he makes his way to the other room.

That doesn’t stop Sanghyeok from staring at his back until Seongwoong slides into the seat next to him, breaking his reverie. “You look angry.”

“I’m not,” he says at first to Seongwoong’s disbelieving his face. He frowns and turns to his computer to quickly click himself back into queue. “You and Jaehyeon seem close.”

“Yes, we do.” Seongwoong says, gently amused. “It’s fine, that’s normal.”

“It’s normal for people to fall in love with you?”

“Oh, Sanghyeokie,” Seongwoong says, in a condescending tone that Sanghyeok hates. “You should be able to tell by now—I’m different.”

And yes, ever since they won their first world championship, he’d started to sense something different about Seongwoong, who had a presence more diffuse and light than their other teammates, who charmed players and fans alike with just a smile—who always looked most comfortable in the presence of physical affection. _Male_ physical affection.    

“I don’t care about _that_ ,” he says. “You’re just as human as the rest of us.”

“Hmm.” Seongwoong cocks his head to the side, gaze thoughtful. “Right.” There’s something strangely off about Seongwoong’s eyes, until they crinkle at the edges and he teases, “Why are you so interested? Have you fallen in love, as well?”

Sanghyeok can feel his cheeks warm, something bright and hot spreading from his face down to his neck. “I—”

He feels a hand ruffle his hair, looks up into Seongwoong’s smiling face. “Just teasing, of course.”

Seongwoong’s left him before he can muster up the courage to say anything else—and he’s not sure if that exchange was a casual dismissal of his feelings or sheer obliviousness. He watches Seongwoong sidle up to Jaewan, settling his arms and head on the top of Jaewan’s chair and laughing as he watches him play, and decides it doesn’t matter anyway.

-

Right after they win their second World Championship, Sanghyeok sees a pair of shining white wings sprouting from Seongwoong’s back. It’s only for a split second, as he’s turning his head to face the audience—and by the time he whips his head back, they’re gone. He dismisses it as a delusion of his psyche, a weird leakage of his dreams and thoughts about Seongwoong, rather than anything stemming from reality.

By the time he’s following his team up to the center of the stage to raise the trophy, he’s forgotten all about that image, instead focusing on what was truly real—the awe and relief on all of his teammates’ faces, the giddy excitement that always accompanied the adrenaline after every win.

The trophy is just as solid in his hands as last time, and he feels a similar otherworldly aura surrounding him as he brings it down to kiss.

 

Seongwoong looks at him speculatively, humming softly as he slowly tilts his head to the side. “Close,” he says, before ruffling his hair. “Gyeonghwan won MVP this year, huh?”

He has an odd inkling that Seongwoong’s talking about something else completely, but he shrugs. “It’s a carry top meta.” Like he isn’t a little bitter about playing a support-heavy, resource-light season. “He deserves it.”

“Don’t try too hard to convince me or you might actually believe it.”

“I’m _not_ jealous—” he starts, cutting off when Seongwoong nudges him with a shoulder. He frowns. “That’s not funny, I’m trying to be serious!”

Seongwoong sighs and rolls his eyes. “You’re always serious.”

“Only because you hate my jokes.”

“You’re twenty years too young for your jokes.”

He lightly pushes against Seongwoong’s shoulder this time, offering him a small smile. “And you’re twenty years too old for your complaining.”          

Seongwoong laughs. “You’re right—we’re both men displaced in time.”

-

Upon arrival back in Seoul, they have one last celebratory dinner together before their allotted break time, inviting all involved staff this time instead of the bare minimum they had taken to Europe. They manage to all gather in a private room at a high-end barbeque place, separated into tables for the sake of convenience. He ends up next to Jaehyeon and Junsik and across from Jaewan out of sheer coincidence, with Seongwoong stuck on the opposite side of the room.

It takes Junsik two bottles of soju before he asks, “What’s the highest offer this year?”

Sanghyeok’s not sure how, but the fact that a Chinese team offered him a million dollars in years past has made it through the rumor mill and been accepted as truth. And just like last year, and the year before that, he demurs. “None worth considering.”

They’ve all gotten offers for other teams before, usually with ludicrous salaries and promises of fame and fortune and luxury. Sanghyeok’s not immune to the allure, but the idea of adapting to a new team, a new environment in a new country with no familiar faces—it was hard enough the first time to adjust to SKT.

It also helps that SKT pays him incredibly well.

Junsik sighs. “Always so secretive.”

“I could never imagine leaving, not when it was so hard to make it onto SKT,” Jaehyeon says. “Why leave the team that will win everything, anyway?”

“I dunno, it seems like a great way to see the world, especially when they’re paying for everything,” Jaewan says. “You’re guaranteed a starter position, and winning the regional championship would be easier than here.”

Junsik shrugs, gives Sanghyeok a sidelong glance. “And it’s a way to prove that _you’re_ good—not just some dead weight hard carried by your teammates.”

Jaehyeon doesn’t look convinced. “Have either of you _seriously_ considered it?”

“Uh.” Jaewan shares a look with Junsik, clearly having one of those mental conversations exclusive to botlanes and pairs forced to spend inordinate amounts of time in each other’s company—neither being mutually exclusive, of course.

“I mean, it sounds good in theory. But things like that are always too good to be true.” Jaehyeon shakes his head. “Why abandon everything for a _chance_ when you’re already guaranteed a good thing?”

Jaehyeon sounds adamant at first blush, but to Sanghyeok—he sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself of his words, that there’s some degree of uncertainty still at play. He sees Jaehyeon glance over at the other end of the table where Seongwoong’s currently laughing with Gyeonghwan, and it makes sense. This year was supposed to be Jaehyeon’s big debut, but he ended up benched and at home while the rest of his team won Worlds, while Seongwoong took his rightful spot at Sanghyeok’s side once again.

“I’ve thought about it,” he says, and all three look over at him in alarm. “And under the right circumstances—maybe if I weren't guaranteed starting time, I could see why someone would accept that kind of offer.”

Jaehyeon looks unsettled, and Junsik and Jaewan share another one of those _looks_ while Sanghyeok continues to pick at his plate. “Yeah,” Jaehyeon says, glancing over at the other table again. “Right.”

 

Jaehyeon leaves during the pre-season, signed with Qiao Gu in the LPL.

The next time he sees Seongwoong, he looks conflicted over the news. “I don’t understand—it was a such a good fit.”

Sanghyeok shrugs. “Some things are more important to him, I guess.”

Seongwoong frowns, looking over at him suspiciously. “Did you say something to him?”

“Nothing that he hadn’t thought of before.”

- 

Jihoon and Gyeonghwan both leave for China, and they pick up another top laner and sub jungler in Hoseong and Sungu and the team moves on as usual. They practice together, they eat together, they scrim and talk and play together.

Sometimes when he looks at Seongwoong, he sees a hazy golden aura surrounding him. He dismisses it as some weird optical trick and resolves to have his eyes checked the next time they get a break. That is, until they bump into the Tigers in the waiting room between matches, and he sees the air around Beomhyun flicker in and out in the exact same way. It follows him even as he slips out into the hallway, and Sanghyeok stares mesmerized as the lighting changes, but the aura doesn’t. He follows him out before he can think things through, eventually bumping into him in the restroom.

“Sanghyeok! It’s good to see you again.” Beomhyun doesn’t seem to have any intention of actually using the restroom, fixing his hair while he looks at Sanghyeok through the mirror.

“Oh, um,” he says, suddenly feeling extremely out of place. “Hello.”

“How’re you?” Beomhyun asks, before he tilts his head to the side, obviously puzzled. “There’s no reason to hide, you know? It’s not like anyone else can tell.”

“Tell what?” he asks, startled into stillness as Beomhyun places a gentle hand on his shoulder. It’s reminiscent of Seongwoong—warm and comforting in an unusually familiar way, and he blinks as the golden aura around Beomhyun becomes clear. “You’re glowing.”

“Yes,” Beomhyun says dryly. He turns Sanghyeok by the shoulders until he’s facing the mirror and—

“You are, too.”

 

“Explain.”

Seongwoong doesn’t even look vaguely off-put by the question, glancing over at him from where he’s lying in his bed and sighing. “Who lifted the seal?”

“Does that matter?”

“Not really.” Seongwoong shrugs. “I was going to eventually tell you.”

Sanghyeok frowns. “ _Eventually_?” He waves a hand. “I’m glowing.”

Seongwoong cocks his head to the side. “I’d say it’s more shining?”

He narrows his eyes, dangerously close to yelling, “Does _that_ matt—”

“Haven’t you noticed something different about the people around you?” Seongwoong interrupts, “About the way you see them?”

The way he could see through people’s words and intentions, like a flowchart in his mind—the way he could easily manipulate people’s decisions and thoughts. “You said that was a part of growing up.”

“Yes,” Seongwoong says patiently. “A part of growing into a god.”

He blinks, staring at Seongwoong as he realizes all of the odd, vaguely unsettling feelings he’d ever had about Seongwoong are becoming incredibly real and present. “Then what are you?”

Seongwoong shrugs. “Your guide.”

-

Sanghyeok had thought something might change after the reveal, but for the most part, everything remains the same. They practice, they scrim, they eat. The patches come and go, adaptations are made—

Seongwoong and Hoseong start spending excessive amounts of time together. Everything is still the same.

It’s some ungodly time of night—4:17am, his computer clock helpfully reads—and Sanghyeok is still in the practice room, long abandoned by all of his teammates other than Seongwoong, who has always refused to let him be alone in the room, insisting on keeping him company even when it’s clear he’s basically sleeping on his keyboard. Because Sanghyeok doesn’t really feel tired anymore, hasn’t since sometime between their first and second World Championship, and now that he knows _why_ he never feels tired, he doesn’t bother trying to force himself to sleep anymore, and so it’s just him and Seongwoong in this brightly lit room surrounded by monitors and strange, eerie silence when he blurts out, “I like you.”

Seongwoong blinks sleepily when he looks up at him, weariness around his eyes in a way Sanghyeok wonders is real, because no matter how much he looks like one, Seongwoong isn’t human.

“I like you,” he repeats, stronger this time and Seongwoong smiles at him.

“I like you, too.”

He pauses, and thinks about how much time he’s wasted if it were going to be this easy, “You know I mean—”

Seongwoong tilts his head to the side, eyes wistful as he takes Sanghyeok’s hand in his own. “Of course I do.” He presses their palms firmly together staring down at them as he says, “But it doesn’t matter. We can’t.”

He tightens his grip as Seongwoong makes to pull away. “Why not?”

Seongwoong smiles sadly at him, gently slipping his fingers out of Sanghyeok’s hold. “I’m your guide,” he says. “I can’t.”

- 

They win another championship and head off to MSI. They win that, too, and head back to a rougher summer. They lose in playoffs, but the Tigers ship them off to Worlds all the same. Seongwoong still treats him the same as always—light and bright and friendly, but physical affection is a thing of the past. Instead, Seongwoong seems to spend it all on Hoseong; draping himself in Hoseong’s lap, pressing his face against Hoseong’s shoulders, tugging at his fingers and wrists ~~and dick,~~ and Sanghyeok knows he should give it up as a lost cause.

But he remembers the fond way Seongwoong looked at him that one night, the regret in his eyes as he pushed him away.

And stupid as it may be, that’s enough for his heart to keep hoping. After all, once he becomes a god, Seongwoong will no longer be his guide—and then things would be different.  

 

It was probably the hardest set of series, but SKT pulls out the win at Worlds once again. And somewhere between lifting the trophy and the post-game winner’s interview, Sanghyeok senses something’s _changed_.

“Congratulations, Sanghyeokie,” Seongwoong says, and Sanghyeok can clearly see the glow around Seongwoong now, effervescence tinting the room a warm yellow. “You’ve done it.”

“I’ve done it?” he asks, until Seongwoong gently takes his wrist in hand and brings it up for Sanghyeok to see. He looks at his palm, eyes widening as he realizes the once hazy glow surrounding his fingers is full-on shining. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” And even though Seongwoong’s obviously trying his best to be happy for him— _is_ happy for him, Sanghyeok can sense lingering pain and resignation in his tone.

Before Seongwoong can drop his arm, he quickly clasps Seongwoong’s hand in his own. “Does this mean—”

“We shouldn’t,” Seongwoong says, but he looks conflicted, and that’s enough for Sanghyeok.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t.”

Seongwoong looks at him straight in the eye, pupils dilated even as he lets out a frustrated growl, “This is cheating.”

He blinks, breaking eye contact for a second, enough time for Seongwoong to break from his grasp. “What is?”

“You’re a god now,” Seongwoong says wearily. “You can have whatever you want—anything you could wish for.”

He slowly reaches out to touch Seongwoong’s hand again, allowing him the space and time to draw back. “I want you.”

Seongwoong lets him have his hand, lets him turn his head until they’re face to face again. “Then I’m yours to have.”

 

Cuddling Seongwoong is just as comfortable as he imagined it to be, feelings of warmth and safety blanketing him in perfect contentment.

“I love you,” Seongwoong whispers in his ear.

“I love you, too,” he mumbles as he falls asleep, keeping Seongwoong’s hand close to his heart.

He barely hears Seongwoong as he murmurs, “I’ll miss you.”

-

The flight back to Seoul is the same arduous trek every international trip manages to be, a twelve-hour affair he mostly sleeps through. He doesn’t need much sleep anymore, just a few hours and he’s refreshed for the whole day, but there’s something relaxing about closing his eyes and letting his mind wander in the darkness.

They’re given a few weeks of vacation, time Sanghyeok spends at home with his family. In the end, though, most of his time is spent in the PC Bang, playing League until even his empowered eyes start to ache. He feels like he’s missing something, but that’s dismissed easily enough.

 

Hoseong leaves in the off-season, headed for China like so many other players. They pick up a new top laner in Seunghoon and a sub jungler in Wangho, and it’s repeat of every other year they’ve had to adapt to new players. Except this time, they also pick up another sub top laner in Junhyung and a sub midlaner in Haneul, but the idea of more people isn’t something that scares Sanghyeok anymore.

 

For the first time in his career, he’s the oldest on the team—the designated hyung that Gyeonghwan and Jeonghyun had been, nagged by their younger members and guilt tripped into paying for their meals. He doesn’t get pulled into any of those antics, though, and it helps that most of them are easily influenced by his powers.

Wangho expects him to be a hyung he can’t be—not responsible enough to be Beomhyun or jocular enough to be Jongin or Kyungho or affectionate enough to be Seohaeng. But they do share a similar taste in jokes that upsets everyone else on their team, sharing puns during their free time before games in the booth until Jaewan or Junsik or Seunghoon break and yell at them to stop.

 

People treat him differently this season, partly because his behavior is different—everything becomes easier as a god, after all—and partly because they find themselves inevitably drawn to his presence. Their new team members have nothing to compare their experiences to, but he can hear Jongin and Jaewan mull over it from where they think he can’t hear him.

But whispering from across the room isn’t enough to stop him, anymore, not with augmented hearing, so he almost laughs as Jongin asks, “Did his eyes ever use to be so—attractive?”

Jaewan sounds horrified, “What does _that_ mean?”

“I don’t know! It’s like he’s Cass or something, hypnotizing eyes and stuff.”

“His eyes _are_ weird,” Jaewan admits. “But that doesn’t mean he’s turned into a video game character.”

Sanghyeok almost laughs, but that would be too out of place, from where he’s sitting at his computer waiting in queue. Instead he just smiles at himself and leans over to look at Haneul’s screen and his game.

 

Seunghoon catches a cold sometime during the pre-season that dissipates almost as soon as Sanghyeok surreptitiously pats him on the back. It’s early enough that people don’t notice, although Seunghoon starts swearing by the immune-boosting properties of his favorite brand of tea.

 

He can feel Haneul sneak glances at him from his computer, all during times when he thinks Sanghyeok is busy playing at game or otherwise occupied. It’s flattering in a way, and he starts mulling over whether to indulge. Haneul’s cute after all, friendly and pliable and easy to tease, with a comforting presence and a warm demeanor. It’d be easy.

Haneul’s eyes are wide when Sanghyeok deliberately catches him one time, face a little pale when Sanghyeok smiles at him, raising an eyebrow. He doesn’t miss the flush on Haneul’s cheeks, and he starts thinking again—

 

“STOP CAMPING ME!!” Seunghoon shouts from all the way on the other side of the room, loud enough that even their coach looks over at him in alarm. “I know you’re doing it on purpose!”

“Easy win,” he calls back, laughing as his Lee Sin dances on top of the dead avatar of Seunghoon’s Camille.

He hears another loud yell, all noise with no words, and he smiles to himself as he backs, three hundred gold richer. Maybe it’s cheating a little to use his powers to purposefully see Seunghoon’s position on the map, but he barely ever uses it and it’s all in good fun—and really, it’s just too amusing to watch Seunghoon slowly tilt off the face of the planet.

 

He wonders if he should be doing something greater with his powers, solving world hunger or enacting world peace. But all he knows how to do is play League—so that’s what he continues to do. He’s not entirely sure one god would be enough to save the world from itself, anyway, especially not a twenty-one-year-old with extremely limited life experience.

-

They drop just two series in spring, collect another spring championship trophy for their case, and fly off to Brazil for MSI. MSI is much of the same, with more wins and a couple of losses, and it’s with no surprise that they walk to the front of the stage to lift another trophy.

In fact, nothing is a surprise up until a stray interview, when one of the American casters brings him to the side.

“The first and only three-time world champion, and now a second-time MSI champion—how does it feel?” The interviewer asks, and he blinks, still a little startled by the first part, because _only_?

"Actually, Seongwoong—" he starts to say, but the name won't come out, physically lodged in his throat as he chokes over it. He coughs, smiling weakly, "It's good," and resolves to correct the mistake later.

Except—

Except _he_ had forgotten Seongwoong, who had been with him for four years, had befriended him through his awkward, terribly silent beginnings, had made him a god before he disappeared. Suddenly, all of the contentment he felt in the past season spoils into nausea in his stomach—that he could be _happy_ without Seongwoong, could forget him so easily—

Panicked, he rushes back to their assigned practice room after the interview, rapidly typing Seongwoong's name into Naver only to come up empty. There's no record of a Bae “Bengi” Seongwoong anywhere—no wiki page, no articles or interviews, even all of SKT's team pictures and video seem to have him magically edited out. Instead, Sungu had been their starting, their _only_ jungler in 2016, Jaehyeon in 2015—and in 2013 and 2014, he barely manages to recognize their jungler as one of the faces he saw during tryouts.

For all intents and purposes, Bae Seongwoong never existed at all.

He still feels sick, hand on his mouse as he stares blankly at the computer screen. Maybe Seongwoong really was just a figment of his imagination, he thinks hollowly, but the emptiness still stays, stark and bright in his heart. He closes his eyes, thinks back to their first and last night, when he’d finally had Seongwoong close—had his arms wrapped around him, head tucked against his chest, safe in the knowledge that when he woke up they’d be together. When they went back to their team, they’d be three-time world champions, and Sanghyeok would be the one Seongwoong obnoxiously flirted in front of their team with.

He tries to picture Seongwoong, his smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the edges, how he’d tease Sanghyeok, the way his presence had been so airy—too light and diffuse to capture—when he feels a pull in response.

-

Of all places, Sanghyeok finds him in a PC Bang—some habits are hard to kick apparently, even for an immortal. But maybe that’s the point, because bent over in his chair, furiously clicking his mouse and pressing his keys, Seongwoong looks like any other gamer in the world.

Sanghyeok hadn’t thought through what his reaction to seeing Seongwoong might be, but anything he could’ve imagined wouldn’t live up to the noxious mix of betrayal and pure, undiluted happiness at seeing Seongwoong again. He has a baseball cap shielding his face from sight, and an unfamiliar blue sweater Sanghyeok’s never seen before, but he’s the only person in this PC Bang that has an aura, even as well-hidden and dimly lit Seongwoong has suppressed his to.

Because he’s polite and courteous, he waits until Seongwoong finishes the game, watches him click on the end game screen when Seongwoong asks, “You’re really not trying to hide yourself, are you?”

“Who would I be hiding from?” Sanghyeok asks in return, and then a little bitterly, “Are you going to run again?”

Seongwoong looks up at him with surprise, and now Sanghyeok can correctly identify the word imprinted on the front as _Faker_. And—he’s actually wearing a Faker cap. “You shouldn’t remember me.”

“But I do.”

Seongwoong sighs. “You do.” He swivels around completely, sprawling back in his chair. “So, now what?”

Sanghyeok hadn’t prepared much for this, had thought all of the hard work would be in finding Seongwoong again, and he’s left bereft and brutally honest. “Come back.”

“I can’t,” Seongwoong says, and the words hit like a kick to the stomach. “My job is finished—and anyway, you deserve better. I’m not suited.”

“But I don’t care,” he says, “I don’t care if I _deserve_ better, you’re who I want.”

“Well then,” Seongwoong sighs, looks up at him with blank eyes, and Sanghyeok can see the way weariness weighs on his shoulders. “You’re a god,” he says. “You can have whatever you want.”

It’s the same exchange they had the first and last time—the one that ended with Seongwoong disappearing into thin air and Sanghyeok almost forgetting his existence. He already knows this isn’t a path that’s sustainable, one that will most likely lead to an unending chase after a ghost. But he can’t think of living in a world without Seongwoong, not when his happiest years all contained him by his side.

“Why do you keep saying that?” he asks, frustrated and angry at both his own weakness and Seongwoong’s stubbornness. “You’re not a thing to take.”

Seongwoong sighs. “You don’t understand, do you? I’m _your_ guide—I exist purely at your behest. The perfect jungler to unleash your potential, the best friend who’d never leave. You’ve grown beyond me now, Sanghyeok. You don’t need me anymore.”

“How can you say I don’t need you when I’m here?” he says, feeling his anger rising. “You wiped your existence and I still remembered you. You left and I chased after you.”

“You’re a god—”

“ _I never asked to be one!_ ” he finally shouts. “I don’t need this fancy title or these powers I don’t understand—I don’t even need the trophies or the championships if it means you’ll come back.”

After all, what was the point of reaching godhood if it meant the one person he wanted had to disappear?

Seongwoong blinks, quickly snapping out, “Don’t say that.”

“Say what?” he asks. “I don’t need—”

Seongwoong slaps a hand over his mouth, desperate as he asks, “Aren’t you happy with your team now? You could easily fall in love with Haneul or Seunghoon or Wangho, anyone of your choosing.”

“But I love you right now,” he says, and in the end, that’s what it all boils down to. He doesn’t want to give up the person who’d been with him through the worst. He’s bright and sociable now, but Seongwoong had liked him even when he could barely push out two words at a time.

“You’re an idiot,” Seongwoong says, but his hand curls around Sanghyeok’s cheek, as gentle and soft as he remembers. “If I come back—”

“I don’t care,” he says. “I barely know what to do as a god, anyway.”

Seongwoong laughs. “You’re probably just forcing everyone to laugh at your jokes.”

- 

“I don’t get why you couldn’t come back as a player,” Sanghyeok complains, rolling around in bed to face an amused Seongwoong.

“I’m not retired yet,” he says, flicking Sanghyeok on the shoulder. “But I’m old and tired, let me sit out this season at least.”

“You better watch us at Worlds.”

Seongwoong rolls his eyes. “I’ll make sure to catch every game.”

He wriggles closer, lets his head rest against Seongwoong’s chest. “Did you know they call you the Right Hand of God?”

Seongwoong laughs, and Sanghyeok can feel the vibration all the way down to his toes. “Well,” he says wryly, letting his head rest on top of Sanghyeok’s. “They’re not entirely wrong.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love you e, and I hope you get some enjoyment from this at least. it includes some things we talked about, but is also...kind of not? it started out funny and cute and sweet and now it is...this. this convoluted mess that I'm ??? about and ALSO IT BECAME SO LONG SOMEHOW
> 
> just so you know, the summary of the other fic I was possibly going to write was: _faker has unknowingly charmed bengi into staying for two years, and when finally given his free will back: he leaves_ , so I hope this happy ending is pleasing
> 
> also yeah, I HAVE FUCKING TERRIBLE TASTE IN MUSIC/TITLES idc


End file.
